Rush Hour
by kruemelchen
Summary: Things usually don´t go as planned - especially if your name is Greg Sanders
1. Stopped to fill my car up

**Disclaimer: You all know they aren´t mine. Sigh.**

**A/N: Yes, I´m still working on "Life´s Fleeting Glances" but this idea popped into my mind when I listened to "i stopped to fill my car up" from the Stereophonics.**

*******

Gas. What he needed was gas. Spotting a Texaco at 2 o´clock, he swerved right and pulled up next to a pump. After listening to the end of "Jinx", he got out and started filling his car up. Tapping his fingers nervously on the roof, he looked at his watch again.

Damn. He was going to be late. Just his luck. Grissom had been unbearable all week. The whole nightshift in fact. Nothing new here since they had several really trying cases on their hands and everyone had developed a very short fuse. And, naturally, he was the one who got the beatings if he hadn´t finished something on time. But, he had only two hands after all. Just like the rest of them, he did what he could in the amount of time available. Didn´t change the fact, though, that Grissom was still going to give him hell once he got to the lab.

Hurrying to pay after he had finished, he hopped into his car and drove away. He was tapping his fingers in tune to the music on the steering wheel which calmed his nerves somewhat. There was nothing like a good piece of music to help you relax, even if said piece was "You know you´re right" from Nirvana. He had to chuckle at that thought.

Something cold at the back of his neck put a sudden stop to his drumming and replaced the smile, which had started to develop, with a frown. He raised his eyes to the rearview mirror and looked behind him. A man around forty in the back seat calmly met his surprised gaze. Then he heard a soft "click" and felt the weight against his neck shift slightly. A ball of lead was beginning to settle in his already nervous stomach. Trying not to avert his gaze, he swallowed a couple of times. He had to approach this subject nonchalantly. Yes, even if or better because there was a gun pressed against his neck. No use in freaking out now if he didn´t want this whole thing to blow up in his face - no pun intended.  

_Oh come on, Greg, think of something, you´re the master of conversation after all._

_Just strike up an easy small talk. That´s what you´re good at. Sure, but not if someone is holding a gun to your head!_

His inner monologue came to an abrupt stop when a gravelly voice said "I´d suggest you keep your eyes on the road."

Fixing his eyes back on the road in front of him, he tried to think of a way out of his dilemma. 

_Okay. Think, Greg, think. What did you notice about him? Well, he is obviously pointing a gun at you which could be triggered anytime and you wouldn´t be able to do anything about it. Thank you. That´s not really helping! Good reminder, though._

Visions swam before his eyes. He actually had a good idea what would happen if he were to make a wrong move. He could see it unfolding in slow motion: a wrong word, the gun moving to touch the back of his head, no warning when the trigger was pulled, the sound of the gunshot reverberating in the car leaving an eerie silence with the hot smell of gunpowder in the air. Clouds of smoke dancing around his motionless form. And him, slumped over the steering wheel with a hole the size of Texas in the back of his head. His blood decorating the interior of his car with curtains of red. 

He wondered if Grissom and the others would process the crime scene. What would they think if they saw him lying there. He tried to picture the scene in his mind. 

Grissom all hard-faced and professional. Would he shed a tear? 

Or Catherine trying to overcome that gag reflex you get when something is disturbing in a way that you just can´t control yourself. 

Or Nick, staring unbelievingly at his broken body and after a short time raging on about getting that piece of shit who did this. 

Or Sara. He actually had no idea as to how she would react in that situation. Well, in his dream world, she would fall to her knees and weep as if there was no tomorrow. Admit her feelings towards him and regret that she never told him before. But in the real world? She would probably show no emotions at first. Stone-faced, a bit like Grissom. But in the safety of her home, she would break down and her mind wouldn´t be able to grasp what had occured. Maybe painting plausible scenarios. On the next day, though, she would behave as if nothing had happened. 

Talking about life sans the living!

But seriously, would they say goodbye? Would they even miss him? Would they remember him every time they passed his lab or smell coffee? With no trace of him whatsoever, erased out of their lives. 

Would they still function?

_Greg, stop it! Think of the now and not of the possible, hopefully not to happen like this, future! You´re gonna make yourself mad, man._

Shaking himself out of his stupor, he came to a decision.

_Better keep your mouth shut. _He nodded his head slightly as if to agree with himself.

He risked another glance at the man, briefly meeting his gaze. He couldn´t shake the feeling that something was going to happen and that, whatever it was, he wasn´t going to like it one bit.

*******

Well, now it´s up to you. Is this worth continuing or should I just burn it in the backyard? Your choice.


	2. Travelling alone

Sunset. The horizon was glowing in red as the stars watched the sun go down. Everything seemed to melt into a world of orange, yellow and red. 

Usually, he liked sunsets. On any normal day he would, too. 

But this wasn´t a normal day.

The last sunrays reached out and enveloped his car with golden light. Words almost couldn´t describe that serene beauty. 

But, as with everything in life, looks could be deceiving. For there was one thing for sure: this scene was anything but beautiful.

A song was blaring in the radio slicing through the heavy silence like a knife, bouncing off the walls of the car and into the ears of its passengers. Greg didn´t know the song, but his thoughts were elsewhere anyway, presumably on the man in the back seat.

"Turn left on the next intersection." 

He did as he was told.

He didn´t know where this was going. But he did know where he didn´t want this to end. 

The man had only given him few instructions so far, preferring to be silent otherwise. Enjoying the scenery and keeping an observing eye on him at all times. Like a bird hunting for its prey. Waiting for the right moment to strike. Or for him to make a wrong move.

_As if I would try anything!_

But that brought other thoughts to his mind. How long had he been followed? How long had that creep been watching him? He was certain that he hadn´t seen him before. Or had he? He passed so many people every day how could he be sure? But why him? He didn´t have the nerve to ask. Although this man appeared to be civil enough, he didn´t want to risk anything by asking a question like that. Who knew what kept this guy ticking?

So, there was just one thing he could do: bide his time and wait.

Greg glanced at him again. 

The gun looked pretty heavy. He wondered if his arm wasn´t stiff by now holding the gun like that. Seemed to be a good-sized caliber. Catherine would be able to tell him. He should have paid more attention that one time when she had tried to explain it to him. Well, didn´t change the fact that he hadn´t.

Probably better if he didn´t know, though, this way he wouldn´t know the damage that thing could inflict on him.

_As if that makes a difference._ He snorted at that thought. _All guns are dangerous weapons. All are made and meant to kill. I have seen the damage often enough. _

"Turn off the radio." The sudden declaration did nothing to ease his troubled mind.

Greg frowned slightly but suppressed a sigh and did what he was told. Again.

_Great. Here comes nothing. _

At least the music had kept his mind somewhat busy, but now, even that was gone.

Questions formed. Questions scratched. And even more questions lingered.

 _What could this guy want from me? What will he do once we stop somewhere? What if_

The silence was suddenly shattered by the ringing of a cell phone. Greg jumped, startled by the noise. Then his brain registered that it was his phone. He dared not to touch it. 

"Pick it up. We don´t want people to think that you´re in trouble after all." He sounded awfully cheery. He seemed to like that thought.

His stomach did another flip-flop and dropped under the car, getting lost somewhere on the road behind him.

Greg felt the gun being pressed even more tightly into his neck. It was starting to hurt. There was probably even going to be a mark left. A scar to be forgotten.

 "And remember, one wrong word and you´re dead." He whispered. Greg nodded. His heart picking up speed again. His mouth oddly dry.

He flicked his cell open and saw that it was Grissom calling. 

_Now what? Grissom will know if I´m lying. Well, that could work for me. Yeah._

A plan started to form in his mind.

"Don´t just stare at the damn thing. Answer it for Christ´s sake!" came the angered bellow from the back seat, riled by the incessant ringing. 

"Hello?" He asked a bit timidly.

"Greg, where the hell are you? You should have been here over an hour ago!"

Damn. To say that Grissom was pissed off was an understatement. Like comparing a raging bull to a mewling kitten. He should have expected that, though. He knew that he was late, had been from the beginning.

"Um, hey Grissom. Um, sorry, um, but I´m having a bit of car trouble..." he said slowly, afraid that one false word might be his last. All the while he shot several nervous glances at the man in the back.

"Greg, I don´t want to hear any excuses. If you´re having trouble with your car, get a cab or take the bus. I want you here in 15 minutes. Got that?"

Before he could say anything else, Grissom had already hung up.

He stared disbelievingly at his phone.

His plan was waving at him on the way out.

_How do I get myself into situations like this? My boss pissed off at me and a madman in the back seat. _

He wanted to bang his head on the steering wheel. 

Life just couldn´t get any worse.

The nuzzle of the gun made itself known again. 

Or maybe it could.

*******

There´s going to be more action in the next chap. Promise!

BTW, I´m looking for a beta reader. I keep having trouble with certain phrases and sometimes don´t know if I did it right. A beta would be really helpful since English is not my first language.


	3. Shifting gears

**A/N: Thanks to all of you who offered to beta me. I really appreciate it! **

**         RainbowsnStars helped me with this chap. Thanks again! **

*******

Cars. 

Where would we be without them?

A car is anyone´s pride and it´s a symbol of a certain standard.

But not everyone can afford one. 

The ones who can should call themselves lucky.

_Me, lucky? Don't think so!_

Cars.

They are designed to make you feel safe. To let you reach distances men only dared to dream of years ago. And last but not least, they are designed to give you freedom. To stretch your arms up to heaven and feel the way ahead of you as well as the miles left behind you.

But, what if that freedom was taken away? Would you then still use the words freedom and car in the same sentence? Or would the association be a different one?

That of fright or fear?

That of indisposition?

All of those and then some were feelings that Greg associated with his car at the moment.

Staring straight ahead, the road stretched like a giant snake before him. He was trailing along the way uncertain of where it would lead or end.

His sense of direction was gone since he didn´t know this area at all.

"You see that barn over there? Stop there."

Only a second gone by and the task was already carried out. 

Greg craned his neck to take a look out of the windshield. Dusk was already setting in, making it harder to see. They had landed in a pretty isolated area a few miles out of town. 

Several vacated buildings stretched in either direction with no signs to indicate any life. 

_Welcome to no man´s land._

As he turned his head, he could see bright spots of light dancing in the distance. 

Vegas. 

With people milling about who had no idea what was about to happen to him.

An old barn appeared to grow out of the ground before them. It was looming over them, mocking them both with its shadows.

"Get out." Greg felt the gun being shifted away from his neck.

Greg slowly opened the door and stepped out of his car. Dread rose inside him of what was to come next. The gravel under his feet crunched slightly as he turned to face his kidnapper. Hands raised, Greg stood before him.

_You stand before me now we stare eye to eye_

_Before another second clicks away one of us will die_

_You reach for your metal as I reach for mine_

_The sound of bullets flyin' through the air, is followed by a cry_

_And they're cryin'_

_What will we do? What will we say?_

_When it's the end of this game that we play?_

_Will we crumble into the dust my friend?_

_Or will we start this game over again?_

_Shit. I can´t go out like this. It can´t end like this._

He was starting to tremble. Hot tears were welling up in his eyes. He took a step back, away from the danger, one step closer to safety. He was put to a sudden stop when he heard a soft click. 

"Don't move."

His eyes strayed to the ground. He wouldn´t look. He just couldn´t.

The gun was pointing steadily in his direction. Seconds ticked by with Greg waiting for the inevitable to happen.

_No! I won´t go out like this! Fight! It´s your life, damn it! Do you want to live? DO YOU?! _

As he raised his eyes to look at his kidnapper, they were bright with determination.

_I can do this. Just try to wrestle the gun away. C´mon._

The choice wasn't his in the end. He was so focussed on the person in front of him that he didn´t realize someone was sneaking up on him.

Didn't realize that the other person had raised his gun behind his back.

Only felt the pain as the cold metal of the gun met his hot flesh, slamming into the right side of his head with such force that his head was whipped to the opposite side. Greg felt himself falling. To him, it was happening in slow motion as the world shifted. Black spots danced before his eyes. But he didn´t feel the impact of his body on the ground, didn´t see the dust rise in a cloud around him.

His face met the ground with a sickening thud.

The dust reached into his lungs, invading them. He thought he was about to choke when, after a couple of seconds, a hacking cough escaped his lips. He couldn´t catch his breath, though, and continued coughing for a few moments.

A shadowy figure loomed over him. Greg squinted up at him, only to be caught with an unexpected kick to his ribs. 

Unconsciousness was calling him into a world of no pain or thought.

His eyes were drifting shut.

Before he lost consciousness completely, he could hear the muffled ringing of his cell phone. He tried to reach into his pocket and pull it out. His uncoordinated efforts were too slow a process however; when another shadow moved into his line of sight, he felt his left hand being crushed under an unbearable weight. Spikes of pain travelled up his arm in hot waves of pure agony. His breathing was coming in short gasps. He tried to cry out but another kick into his ribs rendered him silent. The last thing he was aware of was a raspy voice that whispered into his ear, "sleep tight," before his world went black.

_The young man lays alone but fastened to the ground_

_The sounds of fleeting feet and a cryin' eye will be his last sound_

_What did we gain from all of this? Now was it worth a life?_

_We've thrown all our hopes away and set our dreams aside_

_Now we're cryin'_

_What will we do? What will we say?_

_When it's the end of this game that we play?_

_Will we crumble into the dust my friend?_

_Or will we start this game over again?_

_It's coming back to me_

_It's coming back to me_

_What will we do? What will we say?_

_When it's the end of this game that we play?_

_Will we crumble into the dust my friend?_

_Or will we start this game over again?_

*******

Rest assured, Greg is not dead! You´ll see in the next chap. The lyrics are from 3 Doors Down´s song "Dangerous Game".


	4. Fuel on empty

He lay there, hidden by a veil of darkness. The gentle rise and fall of his chest were the only signs of life on his otherwise still body.

One breath parted his lips. Carbon dioxide was pushed out of his lungs to be replaced by oxygen.

The air was stuffy. There was no light breeze to gently waken him out of his slumber.

Another breath was forced out but this time it was accompanied by a groan. 

The first thing Greg became aware of was his head throbbing with pain. He thought his skull was going to split open. 

_At least that means I'm still alive._

He took a few deep breaths to get the pain under control and slowly opened his eyes to survey his surroundings only to be greeted by total darkness.

He lay there a moment to assess himself.

_Right leg. Check. Left leg. Check. Right arm. Check. Left arm. Shit, that hurt_. 

Breathing deeply, he cradled his arm close to his body. He began to shiver slightly as the cold of the floor seeped through his clothes and into his skin, robbing him of warmth.  

_Lying around won't help me, will it? Get your ass up, Sanders!_

Still a bit uncertain, he tried to straighten into a sitting position when his body reminded him of his various aches and pains. His ribs protested the movement vehemently, but still, he stubbornly refused to give in and straightened up. 

It was time to check out his new home. Since there was no light to aid his journey, he slowly moved around in his new prison. Shuffling along the floor he came to an abrupt stop as he bumped into a wall a couple of yards from his original position. He reached out with his right hand. His fingers brushed across a rough and cold surface.

_Must be underground. No wonder it's getting cold in here._

Suppressing his disappointment at the new revelation, he edged further along the wall. 

_All right, a door!_

Greg found the doorknob but the door wouldn't open.

_Big surprise there._

He tried it again but it was no use; the door wouldn't budge. He kicked it. Pounded his fist on it. The result was all the same: the door held its ground.

_And the winner is... All right. Let the journey continue..._

He searched the room for anything but walls. His wish wasn't granted, though.

When he was certain that he had done all he could, he sat down and leaned against one wall, letting confusing thoughts take over his brain.

_Why am I still alive? They could've killed me? But they didn't, why?_

He hadn't thought it possible, actually. He had been certain that he was going to die that moment when the gun had been aimed at him. He shuddered at that.

Then, another thought occurred.

_There's no way out. I'm trapped..._

Greg's internal monologue was momentarily interrupted by a spike of pain that burst through his head like lightening. He reached up and carefully touched the right side of his head. The short but painful contact made him flinch. He took a shuddering breath when his fingers came away sticky.

Blood. 

Although he couldn't see his hand in the darkness, he suddenly became aware of that distinguishing metallic scent.

_What if they leave me here? I won't be found, ever._

Panic settled in as he stood up and determinately pounded his fist against the door.

"Hello, is anyone there? Hellooo?" 

After a couple of minutes he went still and let his head rest against the door. 

_I'm gonna die here. Alone._

He let the darkness envelop him.

***

Loud voices announced the arrival of his kidnappers. They were arguing. Not a good sign.

Suddenly, a ray of light shot through the keyhole.

"Damn it, Stephen, are you stupid or what?! Why the fuck did you bring him here, letting him drive nonetheless! Now he knows where we live. I told you to get the stuff out of his car and leave. But no, you just couldn't follow a few simple instructions!"

"Derek, let me explain..."

"There's nothing to explain. You fucked up. Big time."

Greg heard a slap and curious now, went to the door and looked through the keyhole. The part of the room that he could see was almost bare. The only furnishings were a chair and a table. Both seemed to be quite old. His cell was lying in the middle of the table. Only a few steps from his door but still miles out of reach.

_What time is it? If Grissom tried to call me again and I didn't answer...He might think something is wrong..._

He turned to take a look at his kidnappers who were on the edge of his peripheral vision.

The one man he hadn't seen before, 'Derek', was standing threatingly over Stephen who in turn lay on the floor, nursing his jaw. 

'Derek' appeared to be in his 40s. He seemed really pale, almost sickly so, although it was hard to tell in that light. A goatee adored his face and he had short wavy hair. 

_Note to self: don't piss him off._

Greg had gotten a pretty good look at 'Stephen' when they were driving in the car. Nothing new with him.

"Stephen, go get him."

That got Greg's attention. Backing away from the door, he thought quickly: _Play possum or confront them?_

***

To be continued…


End file.
